A Piece of 3.14
A friend of mind used to take speed and write, I guess like a girl I used to know would take speed and fuck. Both of them were very good at what they did. I don't take speed, but then I'm not always sure about what it is that I do, so I guess that's okay.
Sometimes the best passwords are the most obvious ones, and because of that, they're the ones that never get used. Like that guy somebody always seems to know who'd just walk up to women and ask them if they wanted to fuck. He'd be unshaved, unwashed, possibly quite bad smelling of both stale sweat and of a nasty case of ugly halitosis. And the women would. They'd fuck his brains out, and perhaps even come back for more, bring a friend. Nobody else would try it, and maybe that's what would make it work. It's like wearing out a welcome; the password, the phrase, the statement, is like a door. And if you only use it once in a while, it's fine and good. But if too many people use it too much, too much of the time, then it's going to start to break down.
Of course, just look into mathematics, and it seems that everything's just in various stages of breaking down lately. Or maybe we're just reading our graphs wrong. Maybe everything's building up.
Is that just the math of greed? The more people who have what other people want, the less valuable it is? An item's worth being dictated by who wants it, how badly, and why. Gold has always confused me for that reason. It has no real worth, no real purpose. It's just a mineral that's not always real easy to find. I mean, it's not even really attractive, for fuck's sake, it's just a shiny yellow rock. I see minerals far more pleasing to the eye getting poured into cement, and nobody gives a fuck, and I wonder why. Why did people chose that rock of that atomic structure to mean something special. Some things I can understand the worth of, like cocaine or fire power. Those are things that have applications. They're active inanimate objects. But gold will always just be gold, just be jewelry. I don't think people even know why they want it anymore, they're just told that having gold or having somebody give them gold, is good and special, and they run with that, no matter how pointless the reality of it really is.
The math of greed. I like that. The more you want the less you have. Of course, the less you want the less you have, so either way there's always going to be the same amount of stuff. Just a matter of seeing what you've got on you, moment to moment, maybe. Or is that a little too fucking Zen? All that, live in the moment, live for today crap. Sure, that's great, but only if you don't allow for cause and effect, for actions and reactions. But, the next day, moment, year, heartbeat, will be influenced by the actions of the previous one, time and time again. Maybe there is no "this moment", just a lot of drawn in breaths being held while the next one approaches. We'll just call that anticipation. Sounds okay, right?
I'm anticipating even as we speak. The TV is playing a movie silently, that I just finished watching. I glance at the screen, and maybe I'm not so much looking at the scene, as I'm trying to remember what the scenes preceding and following it are. Were. Music on in the background, a CD that's instrumental and electronic music at that. I've never learned what the progression of songs really is, the whole CD could be playing backwards right now and I wouldn't know. I don't even know what the track names are, and when I read them, I don't know what they mean. I glance at the phone, and in my heart of hearts, I know I'm waiting for it to ring. She's rather beautiful, of course, but I'm sure you already knew that.
And I look at the screen, and I try to anticipate what I'll next write. Will it be genius? Will it be shit, or merely shite? Will god slide through the spaces between the words and grin her happy smile at me, will I touch on something fundamental to the make-up of the entire universe, or will I just uncover some tragic little neuroses inside myself? I try not to think about the things I've written before, just keep the whole train of thought progressing down the tracks. Try to back up a train traveling at 70 miles an hour to Boston from San Francisco that's carrying a varying number of passengers in each section, and you'll wind up just impaling the engine into the caboose.
That wouldn't be real productive, now would it?
I feel pretty clean right now. The drugs I took earlier worked their way out of my system nice and smooth. I've still got a bit of the laryngitis, which has brought along a quiet little cough with it for the evening, but there's no one I need to talk to right now, so it's not a big deal. Unless the phone rings. She's smart too, very smart. I've forced myself to hold conversations with people who weren't really smart or interesting in my eyes, simply because they were attractive, and I always wind up feeling cheated. Like I was hoping there'd be some form of a pay-off, and it just can't manage to come. Maybe that'll let you become hostile to pretty people; Deal with enough ignorant ones, who use their beauty as an excuse, or a rational for ignorance, and you'll suddenly feel the need to surround yourself with the ugly, who have no reason to be any smarter or interesting, of course. But, maybe you can change the whole meaning of what's attractive and not attractive, by being able to more clearly define what it is that you're requiring from your time spent in conversation or silence with another person.
Just to add some irony, I take off the VCR, and there's a special documentary on about beautiful women who use their beauty to take money from men. Lap dancers and strippers, mainly. They're attractive and unusual, but are they interesting? I don't really think so, but there's a whole TV series being dedicated to telling us about them, so I guess I'm being told/taught/sold that they are interesting. They must be, or they wouldn't be getting this air time, right? I mean, I'm not getting filmed for TV, so I must not be as interesting as they are, right?
The interest of these naked women, isn't too far off from what I was saying about gold earlier. Or as the coolest Jew since Jesus said, "It's all relative". Albert didn't seem to surround himself with beautiful naked women nor gold, and we still use him as a sliding scale for what intelligence is. Was he missing something, or are we? Am I?
I'll be honest. I'm not thinking about that stuff. I'm not even thinking about the chick on the TV shaking her ass in the g-string. I'm glancing at the clock, and at the phone. I'm testing myself to see if my voice is coming back to me much. All those words about money, math, meaning... And I'm thinking about a girl, who might call.
Make your own fucking meanings.